#onetime shot

[clowningly]

its my birthed day

#smg4 #dialtown #onetime shot #sorry i didnt know what source to draw #so i drew all of 'em #fictkin<- #or whatever you wanna call it #randys scribbles

[remlionheart]

Sex, Money, Feelings, Die (part two)

* ˚ ✦ MDNI ✦˚ *

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ask and you shall receive ~ you guys wanted more, so here it is! 𓆩♡𓆪 thank u so much for all the love on this ♡ i didn't expect my first shot at Chuuya to gain so much traction but i'm really glad it did (he's just soooo ♡‿♡ u know?) hope you like a good slowburn bc buckle up, heavy "we shouldn't be doing this" vibes, Chuuya would honestly be the most arrogant yet easy to break dom because of how badly he wants to please you and you can't convince me otherwise, porn with a plot, 5.6k words. this fic once again had me swooning and gnawing at the bars of my enclosure writing it so pls lemme know whatcha think, also big shoutout to @bratbby333 for helping me edit this ღ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ♡ here's part one if you're new here ♡

You stared at yourself in the bathroom mirror with a sigh, tugging at the neck of your shirt. It was late August, 90 degrees outside, and you were on day three of wearing a turtleneck.

You felt like you were attending a funeral in your black top, black heels, and black tennis skirt - but it was all you had left. You'd already worn your other patterned and pleated options earlier in the week. Already paired each stifling hot sweater with the nicest necklaces you had to make them look more business casual than walk-of-shame.

But no matter how nonchalant you'd tried to seem about your sudden change in wardrobe, it was impossible to ignore the curious stares you'd been getting. The suspicious glances from Akutagawa who just a few days ago could barely even look in your direction without tripping over his own feet. There was a palpable sense of skepticism that followed you and it only seemed to get worse with each high-collared shirt you wore.

You let out another sharp exhale, surveying yourself one last time before heading back to your office. You were busy trying to decide on which expletive you were going to spend the next 7 hours cross-stitching when you rounded the corner, a sudden rush of warmth spreading across your face as a pair of cerulean eyes locked with yours.

Out of all the looks you'd gotten recently, his were by far the hardest to avoid.

Time seemed to slow as you passed him. A subtle but taunting smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth while he continued his conversation with Mori. Something about his upcoming assignment in Osaka and how it'd require him to be gone for at least two weeks.

You disappeared into your office, closing the door behind you as you took a seat and diligently began working on a new project.

Your thread kit had become invaluable over the last few days. It wasn't just a way to pass time anymore - it was an escape. A tool you used to steer your thoughts away from the one place that they kept relentlessly trying to wander back to.

Since the announcement of his solo mission, there'd hardly been a chance for you to see Chuuya outside of the lingering glances you'd exchange in passing. Mori had been keeping close tabs on him, constantly barging in and out of his office to go over the details of his assignment. You tried to remind yourself that it was probably for the best. That the safest thing you could do was keep what had happened between the two of you a onetime fling and nothing more.

It hadn't mattered in the moment how careless you'd both been when you assumed that you'd never see him again, but now that your time here had been extended, you were quickly realizing how critical it was to keep your wits about you. Up until arriving at Port Mafia, you'd barely been skating by. Living off of a dwindling savings account and more often than not having to choose between dinner or rent.

The first check you received from Mori alone was more than you made all of last year working as a barista. You knew that this sort of opportunity would never come again. That it was absolutely fleeting and subject to change at any given moment, but that's what made keeping it for as long as you could so important. The money you were making now would put you through college. It would grant you a future that didn't involve debt. A sense of stability that you never would've had otherwise.

You had no choice but to lay low, for real this time.

You moved your tapestry needle with ease, adding small, strategically placed hearts around the words, "choke me" as you stretched out your legs with a yawn.

The coffee they had here wasn't nearly as good as the coffee you'd usually get from the cafe down the street, but you decided it was better than nothing as you set your cross-stitch pad on your desk and ventured down the hallway.

For as dangerous as this place was, there was still an odd allure of normalcy about it. There were mundane things like work meetings and fax machines and a breakroom that stayed stocked with beverages and snacks. If it weren't for the people that worked here, this truly would be just another business building in downtown Yokohama.

Your suede pumps tapped against the tile as you entered the breakroom, grabbing a k-cup out of the drawer and popping it into the machine before walking over to the cabinet. Despite the three-inch heels you were wearing, you still had to resort to using your tiptoes to reach the mug you wanted.

Your waist leaned into the counter, your arm reaching as high as it could go when your entire body suddenly froze.

You felt him before you heard him, a pair of gloved hands stealthily gripping around your hips. He rested his head on your shoulder, his breath sending chills along your skin as it broke through the barrier of your shirt and danced across the nape of your neck. He pulled you in closer, your ass meeting the firmness of his growing bulge while his palm slowly drifted up past your skirt and brushed against your inner thigh.

"You know you can't ignore me forever, right?" It was posed as a question but held the weight of a threat with the tantalizing way he touched you.

Your pulse raced, heat gathering at your center as he began to toy with the lacy outline of your underwear. His fingers were dangerously close to where you wanted them and where you knew they shouldn't be. Where they couldn't be if you wanted to stay here.

It was cruel irony that just last week it had been him who was trying so hard to keep himself together and now you were somehow the one struggling to maintain your composure. Failing to stop yourself from arching your back against him. Nearly whining when he abruptly pulled away from you and disappeared without another word.

You swallowed hard, looking down at yourself while you straightened out the hem of your skirt, your body still aching from the disappearance of his touch. It was only then that you realized just how fitting your outfit for today actually was.

You were attending a funeral, mourning the loss of your dignity that had died so easily at the hands of Chuuya Nakahara.

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Two days had passed since your run-in with the redhead and you'd barely seen him since. You knew he was set to leave for Osaka tomorrow morning from the conversations you'd overheard while wandering the hall and you knew he wasn’t looking forward to it.

Maybe it would've been easier to not care about what he was doing if you weren't forced to be here every day, but there was no such thing as a break when working for Port Mafia. No weekends. No time off. Even as arguably their most useless member, you were still expected to show up day in and day out without complaint.

You didn't like to admit it, but his assignment had been weighing on you since you'd first found out about it. You didn't understand why he was being asked to go alone. Why he'd have to be there for two weeks. Why you even cared to begin with.

It'd been bleeding into everything you touched, your embroidery going from mindless patterns to things you couldn't possibly bring yourself to say out loud.

Your fingers moved with precision, adding dainty purple flowers around the words "please be safe" when the landline on your desk let out a shrill, unexpected ring.

You paused, staring at the phone with hesitant curiosity. You'd assumed up until now that it was a decorative prop. A piece of outdated technology to help add to the illusion that you had a real office rather than just an empty room to keep hidden away in for 9 hours. You were floored that it actually worked.

On the fourth ring, you finally caved, answering it with a reluctant, "Hello...?"

"You'd make a terrible receptionist, y'know that?"

You hated the smile that crept across your face as you twirled the phone cord around your index finger. "Don't you have anything better to do besides bother the help?"

"Nah, not really." You could hear the smirk in his voice. "Mori's finally out of my hair for a bit. Somethin' about needing to go check the status of one of our bases out in Tokyo so he should be gone the rest of the day."

"Hmm," You hummed, still fidgeting with the tangled wire. "Guess you'll have plenty of time to clean your office before you leave then."

He let out a semblance of a laugh, his tone still riddled with salacious arrogance as he said, "Get your ass in here." and hung up.

You drew in a shallow breath, mentally kicking yourself yet again for how little self-control you had as you stood up and made your way down the hall. Your skin had just healed from the marks he'd left on you and here you were, flirting with the possibility of getting more.

The door opened seconds after you'd knocked, a set of narrowed blue eyes and tousled red hair greeting you as you stepped into his dimly lit workplace.

You took a seat on the leather couch he had in the corner of the room, pretending not to notice as he locked the door behind you.

"Does Mori not pay you enough to have more than one lamp in here?"

He stood in front of you with his arms folded over his chest, a cocky grin breaking through his nonchalant demeanor. “Sorry, where does he have you working again? That tiny ass room that used to be the broom closet? Yeah, I bet the fluorescent lighting is way better in there.”

You bit back your own dumb smile, rolling your eyes as you crossed one leg over the other. "Did you drag me in here to just insult me or do you actually need something?"

"Depends, do you like being insulted?"

You could feel your body betray you, a telling shade of pink decorating your cheeks as you averted your gaze from his.

"Really?"

You didn't have to look at him to know how much it’d piqued his interest.

"Why are you going to Osaka?" You asked, eager to change the subject.

There was a subtle wave of seriousness that washed over him. His voice losing its playful edge as he rolled his shoulders with a sigh. "I can't really go into too much detail without making you a liability. The less you know about the shit that goes on around here, the better."

Your mouth open and then closed, the objection you had lined up dying on the tip of your tongue as you quietly nodded back at him. Even if you didn't want to accept his answer, you knew he was right.

"Aw, don't tell me you're actually worried about me?" He tilted his head at you, his stare softening when he caught the sincerity in your eyes as you looked back at him. "I'll be fine. Trust me, compared to the other missions I've had to go on, this is nothin'."

You had no choice but to trust him, you knew he was blunt enough to tell you the truth and if he wasn't stressed about leaving, then you couldn't be either. As easy as it was to forget, he wasn't just another member of Port Mafia, he was an executive. There was no way Mori would send him alone if he didn't think it was something he could handle.

"Honestly, I'm more worried about you." He said, breaking your train of thought by nudging your leg with his foot. "What're you gonna do for two whole weeks while I'm gone?"

You buried the rest of your concern with a shrug, uncrossing your legs as you shot him a small smile. "I don't know. Guess I'll have to start fooling around with Akutagawa to pass the time."

He nearly snorted he laughed so hard.

"What? You don't think I could have him if I wanted to?” It was infuriating how easy it was to banter back and forth with him like this. How effortless it was for you to both volley off one another without missing a beat.

He shook his head, trying not to burst into laughter again from the thought of you and his perpetually flustered coworker. "Nah, you could. Just think you'd be disappointed is all. Akutagawa wouldn't know what the fuck to do with a girl like you."

There was something about the way he said it that made the blood dance in your veins.

"Fine." You pressed, still wearing the same slight smile. "Tachihara then."

It was becoming a real problem, the way you loved toying with him as much as he loved toying with you.

"He wouldn't."

"I bet he would."

He bent down to become eye-level with you, butterflies flooding your stomach as he reached out to rest his hand under your chin, a gentle but firm grasp holding you in place. "You can try," he said, his thumb lightly dragging across your bottom lip. "But I don't think you'll have much luck."

"Why?" It was barely a whisper let alone an actual question.

You knew him well enough to know where this was more than likely going, but there was a depraved part of you that wanted to hear him say it. Needed to hear him say it.

"'Cause," His eyes glazed over as he leaned in, closing the already small gap between you so that you were forced to share the same breath. "Tachihara isn't dumb enough to touch things that belong to me."

Your heart was threatening to beat straight out of your chest. A week's worth of pent-up arousal nearly dripping onto his couch as you looked back at him without the faintest bit of restraint left in you.

All of the reasons why you'd been trying so hard to stay away from him suddenly held no real merit. They were lost to his touch. Completely eviscerated the moment his lips finally caught yours and his tongue swirled against you with the same tender urgency you'd been daydreaming about for the last five days. The future didn’t seem so pressing when the present was this heavenly.

Your legs parted without him having to ask, inviting his body to come between them while your hands travelled to the back of his neck. Desperate fingertips sinking into his skin in a feverish attempt to somehow pull him even closer.

"'Take it you're finally done ignorin' me?"

You nodded as you watched him push your skirt up, briefly pausing to take his gloves off with the same toothy method he’d used the last time you were in his office. You could tell it was a seldom act for him. Something he had to consciously remind himself to do, but only when he was with you.

"Good."

His mouth attentively returned back to yours, calloused but gentle fingers digging into the softness of your thigh while his thumb swiped your underwear to the side, granting him access to your weakest point.

"Fuck," he groaned, drawing light circles against you, reveling in the way your hips thrusted up for more.

As eager for a challenge as he was, he secretly loved how easy you were to please. How little it took to rob you of your composure and have your legs shaking around him. How pitiful you looked from only two of his digits slipping in and out of you. How your pupils would dilate in this delirious way each time he went deeper, but how you were still submissive enough to never break eye contact no matter how much you writhed and squirmed beneath him.

"Chuuya -"

"What is it baby?"

He could feel how close you were. Knew it wouldn't take much more to have you soaking him, but he couldn't leave for two weeks without making you cum on more than just his fingers. He needed to know what your walls felt like wrapped around him. What absolutely fucking dazed out noises you would make once he was inside of you.

He undid his belt with his freehand, not letting up on you as you grabbed onto the collar of his shirt.

"Fuck, yes. P - please." You whimpered, watching him stroke himself as he carefully lined up with your center. "Please, Chuuya, ohmygod, please."

"Jesus Christ." He choked out, reeling in how pretty you sounded begging for him. Almost not being able to stop himself as he watched you come completely undone, still pleading for his dick.

He moaned against you, forehead pressed to yours as he finally found the willpower to pull his fingers out of you. His tip had just barely made it past your entrance when a loud knock brought both of you to an insanely cruel and abrupt pause.

His hand flew over your mouth, fire flickering across his blue eyes as he drew in a sharp breath.

"What?" he called out through gritted teeth.

"Plan's changed." It was Tachihara. "Mori's back. He wants you to leave now instead of tomorrow."

"Now?" The anger in his voice was palpable. "Like, right now?"

"Yeah, he's waiting in the jet."

"You can't be fuckin' serious." He grumbled, a pained expression taking hold of him as he looked back down at you, removing his hand from your mouth.

"Gimme a minute." He yelled, silently trying to ration what he was supposed to do with your body still splayed so beautifully under his.

He wanted to fuck you. God damn, he wanted to ignore everything else in the entire world and fuck you into oblivion at this point, but he knew it wouldn't be fair to either of you to have to rush through it or be stressed about the fact that someone might barge in at any second.

It needed to be the right time because you both deserved it. Especially with how many mutual pent-up emotions there now were between you.

Pulling out of you was torture, but he didn't have a choice.

You could've cried, your heart and pussy both grieving the loss of something they'd never even had.

"I swear," He said, forehead back against yours, "As soon as I get back, it's me and you, okay?"

You nodded, doing your best to swallow down your emotions.

"Okay." You finally agreed, eyes still locked with his, a faint smile poking through your frustration. "But if you're not back in two weeks, don't be surprised when you see me and Akutagawa holding hands in the hallway."

He let out a half-hearted laugh as his lips met yours, kissing you in a way that he hadn't before. Soft, lingering... affectionate.

"Hey," you whispered seriously this time, "Please be safe."

"Promise."

And with that, you began redoing the buttons on your blouse and smoothing down your skirt while you watched him grab a jacket out of his armoire, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket.

"You smoke?"

"Only when I really need one."

He shot you a wink, wrapping his arm around your waist as he walked you out of his office, not caring at all who saw.

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You knew it would be awkward without him around, but you hadn't anticipated just how slow the next week would go by. You were tired. Out of ideas for cross-stitch patterns and nearly positive that your curled fingers weren't capable of creating anything else even if you wanted to.

You read manga to keep yourself busy. Looked up recipes on your phone. Took naps at your desk that left kinks in your neck. Called your friends from back home, trying to keep the conversation going long after there was nothing left to say. You were bored. Grateful to still be here, but ready for a day off that you knew wouldn't come.

The check you received on Friday was enough of a reason to stay though. It made the long days of staring at a wall worth it. You reminded yourself again and again that there would never be another job like this. That you might actually miss it one day.

You had no idea, however, just how quickly that day would actually come until you were rounding the corner back to your office and ran into Kyoto. She was the same peach-haired woman who had recruited you from the bar, only she was standing with a fresh face. A girl who looked to be about your age with big brown eyes, flowy blonde hair, and a skirt that was somehow even shorter than yours.

When you had first started, they'd told you that there would be other 'administrative assistants' coming eventually, but you'd almost forgotten about it until now.

Your eyes drifted from her to Kyoto, thinking there was surely no way you'd both be expected to share the same office with how small it was.

You started to extend a hand out to the blonde, ready to introduce yourself when you were promptly cut off by Kyoto.

"Your time here is up." She said curtly. "If there's anything you need to get out of your workstation, I suggest you do it now."

A vicious mix of anger and embarrassment churned in your stomach. "My time here is up?" You repeated blankly. "Why?"

"Mori's decided you're a distraction." She shot you a pointed look. "Especially to that of Nakahara. Now, get your things before I have you escorted out."

Your ears were ringing, your vision blurred by tears at how cold and sterile this all felt.

You went into your office for the last time, grabbing the thread kit and books out of your drawer as you made your way down the hall, looking back to see your replacement excitedly taking over the spot that was once yours.

Goodbye college, goodbye easy money, goodbye Chuuya.

You were able to hold yourself together on the train ride home and on the walk back, but the minute you made it into your apartment and closed the door behind you, everything all spilled out at once. Your crafts and manga falling from your hands as you sank down to the floor and sobbed.

You thought nothing could've been as mortifying as your first day with Port Mafia, but your last day had proved to be far worse. You were right back at square one and it felt terrible.

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The next few days were a blur of filling out online job applications and revamping your resume. You'd hardly eaten. Hardly showered. Hardly done anything that involved getting out of bed.

It was Sunday and rent was due tomorrow. You'd done the math in your head - you had enough money in your savings account to live here comfortably for the next three months without any additional income. If you really pushed yourself and lived uncomfortably, you could probably even skate by for four.

But no matter how much you tried to remind yourself that there was time, you still couldn't shake the feeling of failure that you'd been left with. If you'd been fired for other reasons, it might not have hurt as bad, but the fact that it really was your fault haunted you.

You took a breath, looking over yourself in the bathroom mirror. A combination of three-day old clothes and a knotted side-bun staring back at you. You decided if you were going to continue to sulk, you could at least do it in some fresh pajamas and washed hair.

The hot water felt good beading across your skin as you scrubbed off the grime and regret that had been stuck on you since the day you’d been let go. The air filling with the smell of vanilla as you exfoliated your legs and ran a conditioning treatment through your tangled locks.

You still didn't feel great, but you felt better and that was a start.

You threw on a white tank-top with a pair of oversized grey sweatpants, running a brush through your hair when you heard the buzz of your doorbell. You froze, looking down at your phone to see the time 11:11 flash across your screen.

You hadn't had a visitor since you'd moved here, let alone had someone stop by at almost midnight.

Your footsteps were light as you crept down your hallway, cautiously peeking through the slit in your door watching him impatiently ring the buzzer again, running a hand along the back of his neck while he waited.

"Chuuya?"

"You'd make a terrible doorman, y'know that?"

It was the first time you'd laughed in the last six days, your arms wrapping around him before you even had the chance to think about what you were doing.

He didn't seem to mind though, his hands locking around your waist as you both pulled each other closer. "How did you -" Your thoughts were everywhere. "How did you find my address?"

He let out a slight laugh, his breath fanning across your neck. “I told you it'd be me and you when I got back.”

There was something so sincere about the way he said it. Something so overwhelming about the way he was looking at you. Out of all the things you'd lost recently, you were incredibly thankful he wasn't one of them.

You let him in, locking the door as he followed you down the hall.

“Sorry," you said sheepishly, realizing that you were about to bring him into the messiest part of your apartment. "It's not always like this."

He took a moment to look over your bedroom. The thumb-tacked pictures of you and your friends that decorated the space above your bed. The string lights and cloud-patterned tapestry adorning the walls. The matching baby-pink sheets and comforter set.

It looked like you. It smelled like you. And no matter how many clothes there might've been scattered across the floor or mugs piled up on your nightstand, it was still way cozier than the hotels he'd been staying at over the last two weeks.

"Looks fine to me." He shrugged, taking off his jacket and tossing it onto a velvet chair next to your dresser. "How've things been since I've been gone?" he asked, taking a seat next to you on the bed with a small smirk. "You and Akutagawa official yet?"

Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared back at him, "Mori didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"I, um..." Your gaze was suddenly on the hem of your shirt as you began to fidget with it instead of looking at him. "I got fired."

"Mori fired you?" There was a sobering sharpness to his voice as he repeated it. "For what?"

You knew he'd find out one way or another, but it was still embarrassing having to relive your conversation with Kyoto. "For 'being a distraction.'" you sighed, your eyes hesitantly dragging up to his. "To you."

There was a brief moment of silence and then, a laugh.

“Huh,” he mused. “Well they're gonna be in for a real fuckin' surprise when you come in tomorrow then.”

You shook your head at him in quiet confusion. "Chuuya, I can't just show back up. Kyoto threatened to have me escorted out when I took more than five minutes to get my stuff out of my office."

His brow arched in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

"Did she?" The question was somehow calm despite the scornful undertone it carried. "Well," he breathed, gently tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "She's gonna really hate it when the entire building has to hear me fucking you. Every. Single. Day."

A sudden warmth washed over you, beginning at your cheeks and ending at your core as you blinked back at him cluelessly. "What are you talking about?"

"You're gonna be my personal assistant." The smirk he was wearing was lethal. "And I'll pay you more than that asshole ever did. Weekends off. Full benefits. Alla that."

"Are you -" He'd never lied to you before and you weren't sure why he'd start now, but you were struggling to wrap your mind around the fact that you'd just gone from being unemployed to promoted in a matter of minutes. "Are you serious?"

"Well yeah," He said simply, his grin softening a bit. "I mean, who else is gonna clean my office before I go on trips?"

You both smiled this time before your lips were immediately back on his. Eager, unreserved, bliss.

He fell back into the bed with you on top of him, his hands gliding along your curves while you straddled him. The flimsy straps of your tank-top slipping down your arms as you hovered over him, kissing and nipping at his neck.

He didn't care if you left marks on him. Didn't care if he showed up tomorrow smelling like your perfume with blatantly obvious bites covering his collarbone. He wanted everyone to know if they didn't already. Wanted them to stare and whisper and drop fucking dead at the sight of the two of you walking in together. It made him feral just thinking about it.

Your hips were rocking against him, your center aligned perfectly with his as you moaned at the friction your movements were creating. You could feel him growing hard beneath you, his fingers tugging at the waistband of your sweats.

"Here." he said in-between breaths, helping you out of them and tossing them onto the floor.

You started to pick up where you left off, but he stopped you, swiftly undoing his belt and adding his pants and boxers into the sea of discarded clothing too. You hadn't even been able to see it until now. Hadn't been able to fully appreciate the length and fucking girth of his cock up until this very moment.

You left another kiss on his neck and then on his chest and then on his torso, meticulously leaving them all over while making your descent down to the one place you so desperately wanted to be.

He watched you with wide eyes, your hand wrapping perfectly around him as you looked up and slowly ran your tongue along the side of his base.

"Fuuuck." His voice was heady, his hands tangling into your hair as you made your way up to his tip.

You opened your mouth wider, almost wondering how it was going to fit, but you managed. Taking him inch by inch, going down further each time until you developed a steady rhythm.

You understood why he liked going down on you so much. The noises he was making were gorgeous. Groaning out sweet little nothings the faster you went. "Doin' so fucking good for me, baby." "God, you're so pretty, y'know that?"

You kept one hand on him, gliding him in out of your mouth as the other trailed down to your clit. Feeling your own slick between your fingers only made you all the more blitzed out. You were sucking and moaning and watching him stare down at you like you had put the stars in the sky as you fingered yourself while somehow still staying focused on him.

"C'mere." It was the first coherent thing he'd said since your tongue had so lavishly graced him.

He gave your hair a gentle tug, pulling you back up so that you were almost sitting on top of him.

"I need to feel you so fuckin' bad, you have no idea." he breathed, lining himself up with you, feeling how wet you were before you'd even lowered yourself onto him.

His hands rested on your hips, your grip back around his base as you centered yourself over him.

It’d been so much just to take in your mouth, you were almost afraid of how bad this would hurt, but he was aware of his size. Letting you go at your own pace as he helped keep you steady.

The stretch he provided you with from the first couple of inches alone was noticeable, but heavenly. Your eyebrows knitting together as you looked back at him. A dazed, poutiness taking over you the further down you went.

You took him in deeper and deeper until finally, you were fully riding him.

"There you go, fuck - just like that."

He watched your head lull back, your hand reaching for his as you continued to grind against him. Both of you losing control as he began to thrust into you.

Your eyes went wide, his name echoing across the room while your walls spasmed around him.

"Sucha good girl."

His praises only made you go faster, one of your hands still locked around his and the other now palming at your chest. Squeezing your nipple between your index and ring finger as you looked back down at him. "Chuuya - 'm -"

It was hard to tell where his moans stopped and yours began, the carnal sounds synchronizing the deeper he plunged into you.

He felt another clench, and then, he was suddenly drowning in you. Completely unable to hold himself together anymore as you soaked him.

"Cum inside me." you whimpered, "Please, Chuuya. I wanna feel it. Please, please - fuck, baby, please.”

It didn't take you begging to convince him, but it certainly made it happen faster.

His ocean eyes rolled back as he thrusted into you, absolutely enamored by the sounds you were making. The way you were pleading and pouting as he filled you.

It somehow made every daydream he’d had about you seem lackluster in comparison. You were beautiful you were his.

You both stilled for a moment, trying to catch your breath before looking back at each other with the same exhausted smile.

He pulled out of you slowly, letting you collapse onto his chest as he ran light fingers through your hair. "You should probably set an alarm for tomorrow." He exhaled. "I heard your new boss is a real asshole."

"Oh yeah," You mused, leaning up so that your lips were ghosting his. "He's the worst."

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#chuuya smut #bsd smut #chuuya nakahara #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya x reader #bsd chuuya #soukoku #rem writes

[coquelicoq]

[ID: A blank American crossword, a 15x15 grid of white and black squares. /end ID]

if anyone wants to test this for me and let me know if you see any mistakes or have any feedback please feel free <3 reminder that usually when i write clues i do not tell you if the answer is more than one word. mwah

ACROSS

1. Something dropped in the club 5. SAG-___ (union involved in a Hollywood strike in 2023) 10. Livens (up) 14. Capital of Norway 15. Clothesline alternative 16. Nomad's tent in Central Asia 17. CHICKEN 19. Something dropped in the bathroom 20. Gathering of witches 21. Finish quickly 23. Elevs. 24. Schedule abbr. 26. What : stands for in an analogy 27. HAM 32. Weasel's cousin 35. Wee 36. Sugary drink 37. ___-Day vitamins 38. ___ and outs 39. CT scan alternatives 40. Letters before an alias 41. Drury ___ (where the Muffin Man lives) 43. It's smaller than a grand 45. TURKEY 48. Prepare potatoes 49. Bill ___, the Science Guy 50. Covered in 55-Down 53. Bandanas 57. Church donation 59. Boo-boo 60. BEEF 62. Large, scholarly book 63. Clinton-era trade pact 64. "Rush Hour" star 65. Gave the go-ahead 66. Type of cheese 67. Shot, for short

DOWN

1. "Garden of Earthly Delights" artist Hieronymus 2. Neckwear named for a racetrack in England 3. Many Eastern Europeans 4. Achy 5. Tally (up) 6. Skillet 7. Onetime maker of toy trains and Tickle Me Elmo 8. Pragmatic sorts 9. Manet and Monet, for two 10. "Monty ___ and the Holy Grail" 11. French bread? 12. UCLA employee 13. Double-___ Oreos 18. ___ nous (confidentially) 22. "Don't go!" 25. Outlaw 27. Video game series with a lot of carjackings: Abbr. 28. Where apple pie is called "Eve with a lid" 29. "Nuts!" 30. Pop singer Brickell or actress Falco 31. "Oh, give it a ___!" 32. Castle defense 33. Egyptian symbol of life 34. Caboose 38. Buck naked 39. Start to behave? 41. Mother of Levi and Judah 42. Hands out, as duties 43. Blue hue 44. "The Hunger Games" baker whose name sounds like a kind of bread 46. Hosted 47. Maps within maps 50. Like a prankster's powder 51. Bargain-basement 52. Kind of question 53. Japanese string instrument 54. Moon of Endor inhabitant in "Star Wars" 55. Frost 56. Stereotypical poodle name 58. Mark of a ruler? 61. Anatomical duct

#just in the process of formatting the clues in this post i caught a mistake. so it's already helped me yay #not my most fascinating theme but i did write it in one sitting and now i won't have to scramble to get it done at the end of the month #and i don't think i've done this kind of theme before so it was interesting to think about #cruciverbs #my posts

[gurugirl]

Would you ever write a pregnancy oneshot?

I had this idea where y/n is in Harry's circle of friends, but is in a toxic relationship with a guy outside the circle that no one likes. She's at a party at Harry's house and ends up staying after everyone, helping to clean up or something, and he asks about the guy. She assures him they're done and shows harry bruises on her arms and neck from him. He ends up comforting her and somehow they end up fucking but in like a gentle fun way, the opposite of how her bf had been. Anyway, it's a onetime thing, they both agree since they're friends and he's leaving for tour in a week.

She finds out she's pregnant, but doesn't tell him bc she doesn't want to ruin his career momentum. Instead she tells everyone it's the ex's but she's doing it on her own. Harry is a supportive friend when he returns, and she shares little things along the way with the whole friend group, ultrasound pictures and stories about how she's feeling and how she's preparing. And then she's getting close to her due date and idk how she ends up telling him it's his but she does, just before she's due. Maybe he's helping her set up her nursery and he makes some comment about how he never thought he'd be building a crib for a baby that wasn't his and the look on her face makes him freeze... and then he's there for the delivery and idk...

I've read pregnancy fics but they're always 100 chapters long lol. I'd love to see a oneshot. Can ask someone else though if that's not your scene!

Oh this is a super cute 🥺 I like the idea of it being wrapped up all in a one shot instead of a series! I have really been loving doing one shots lately the most! Feels good to have a story from start to finish in like 10k words.

Plus I love the idea of how he says he never thought he'd be building a crib and THAT's maybe how he'd find out?? Like maybe she didn't really think he'd be into the idea at all but when he says that and plus the more they spend time together and he's just doting on her (and maybe there's the smallest part of him that wonders if it could be his based on the timeline 👀) and so helpful and she's just all 😍 but so is he and it's all sweet 🥺 so she kind of lets the info slip out and happily ever after 🤭

LOVE!

xoxo

#ask #into the drafts

[muzaktomyears]

Though these escapades were usually one-shot deals, John and I did develop a special liking for two strippers who shared a flat conveniently located a few doors down from the Old Dutch Cafe. Pat and Jean were onetime models who had graduate to the stage of Merseyside's very first topless nightclub. They were tough and smart and didn't care what anybody thought of them - and in those days their profession was deemed highly suspect by the more upstanding citizens of Liverpool. For that very reason, John treated Pat and Jean with as much respect as he was capable of bestowing on a mere female; he regarded them almost as kindred spirits - fellow rebels - and consequently far less contemptible than the so-called "respectable" girls he was nonetheless always happy to lure down the garden path. Pat and Jean used to perform intimate strips for us in the privacy of their own home, getting John and me in a highly receptive mood for the wild scenes that invariably followed. Both boasted exceptionally luscious bodies and an unabashed addiction to sexual intercourse rarely encountered in a young lady (at least where John and I grew up) back in those unenlightened times. Despite these allurements (or maybe even because of them) my liason with Jean got off to an unpromising start when my member stubbornly refused to rise to the occasion. Jean attempted to bolster my self-esteem by confiding that one of the Beatles (who shall remain nameless here!) had experienced similar difficulties on his first fling with her.

John Lennon: In My Life, Pete Shotton and Nicholas Schaffner (1983)

#i wonder who 👀 #pete shotton #john lennon #books

[thatrickmcginnis]

LYDIA LUNCH, Toronto 1988

The closest thing I had to a photographer's studio in early 1988 was an unused room behind the bar at the Silver Dollar Room, a former showbar-turned-strip club that was reopened as a rock club the previous year. This was where I'd do a series of portrait shoots that turned out to be pivotal in my early career, beginning with Lydia Lunch, who came to Toronto on January 26, 1988 on a spoken word tour. Lydia was a star in my little world, famous since her band Teenage Jesus & the Jerks had four songs on the landmark No New York compilation album a decade earlier. She was by this point known as a force of nature, making records and films and publishing books, with a personal style that was as influential as Siouxsie Sioux in that every town's scene had at least a couple of dozen young women who looked exactly like her.

Lydia Lunch showed up performing the material she'd later release on her Oral Fixation record, a pioneer of the spoken word genre (along with former Black Flag singer Henry Rollins - more about him shortly) that would turn out to have real longevity. My photos of her were meant to accompany an article my friend Tim was writing - a paean to the woman who was a kind of nihilist sex symbol in the underground subcultures that had formed since punk rock. So I tried to approach the shoot as something like glamour photography, not dissimilar to the photos I'd take of actress (and onetime Bond Girl) Jane Seymour for a fashion magazine a couple of weeks later. Bringing along my little portable studio - a light stand and umbrella bounce, a portable flash and a big white painter's tarp I carrried around in a gym bag - I cleared a space in the storage room at the Silver Dollar and found an unbroken bar stool that I place midway between my tarp backdrop and my flash.

Delivering a decent shot must have been a priority when I photographed Lydia Lunch because I shot two whole rolls of 120 film that evening hoping for something worthwhile. If you know anything about Lydia you'll have some sense of how intimidating she can be, by choice. (I don't think she'd have a problem with that statement.) My contact sheets show me moving closer with my camera as I got a bit more confident with my subject, who (perhaps accidentally) presented a bit more than her usual defiant face as we talked and took pictures. Lydia had just released Honeymoon in Red, working with guitarist Rowland S. Howard (about whom more soon) and members of The Birthday Party; when I told Howard (in the same back room at the Silver Dollar) that I'd photographed Lydia just a few weeks later, he asked how she was, and I said that there were occasional frames where I got a glimpse of the Catholic girl from upstate New York. He smiled and agreed, laughing that while he'd seen the same aspect of Lydia, he was sure she wouldn't be pleased about it being revealed.

#portrait #portrait photography #photography #black and white #film photography #lydia lunch #punk rock #musician #author #early work #some old pictures i took #photographer #mamiya c330

[captainshurley]

Baby I'm not alright, but I'm okay (Part 3)

Cash Wheeler x f reader

Previous chapter

In the morning, Wheeler woke up with a bad hangover. His head was buzzing literally to the point of nausea. There were a bottle of water and a couple headache pills on the table next to him that made him feel a little better. "I don't remember bringing all this stuff yesterday. I don't remember a lot of things though. Like how I got home, for example." As he got out of bed, he felt his muscles aching, especially his arms and legs. Strange. Enough time had passed since the last match that the effects were hardly bothering him anymore.

"Cashy, baby, if you're up already, I'm at the kitchen making some breakfast for us," Dan heard a woman's voice from the first floor, making his head start to hurt again.

Wheeler looked around and saw a few obviously feminine things scattered around the room. He had definitely not left the party alone. He tried to remember the girl's name... Mandy? Barbara? Nah... Maybe Kristen?

"Don't remember."

He put on his shorts and went down to the kitchen, where the smell of breakfast wafted through the house.

"Morning, beautiful," Daniel found a solution so he couldn't go wrong with the name.

"Morning, tiger boy" the girl smiled at him and placed a plate of fried eggs and bacon on the table "Sit down, everything is ready."

Dan took a seat at the table and looked around the girl trying to remember anything after all. The girl was indeed quite attractive and sexy. This was especially emphasized by his t-shirt, which she wore for comfort. But her voice was something impossible. It was so high, it sounded like it could be tortured. Moments began to surface in my mind.

A few shots in company. Lots of funny conversations. He texts someone in DM on Instagram. "SHIT! I'll have to check who I wrote to and what I wrote. Hopefully not Tony." Then he's already in Stacey's company. Kissing, cab, sex.

"Thanks for breakfast, Stacey, but I..." started Dan, pushing his plate away, but he was interrupted by the girl herself.

"Oh, don't worry, I won't blab to anyone about our relationship. They'll be a secret."

WTF?!

"Wait, wait a second, relationship? You misunderstood me... I may have, yesterday, acted like an asshole, but this one is all..." Dan gestured around them both "it's just a onetime thing. Not a relationship. Sorry" He fell silent and for the first time in the conversation raised his eyes to the girl.

The girl froze in place, clearly not expecting this turn of events. She seemed ready to burst into tears.

"WHAT?!" her voice cut through the tense silence in the house, hitting his ears. "You mean I'm just a whore to you! I can't believe it! Yesterday you were so polite and attentive. Talking the whole-time during sex about how good I was for you and how good you felt with me, and it was just a one-time thing?!"

She slapped him and quickly ran upstairs to the bedroom, apparently to look for her clothes.

Wheeler rubbed his cheek burning from the slap. "Deservedly so," he thought. He himself didn't understand why he was acting this way. He had been in serious, long-term relationships where he really cared about his girlfriends. But after the last breakup, something changed inside him. He closed himself off from others, started acting like a man who doesn't want anything serious and lives for one moment. Only a few people knew the real him and saw him "playing his role for others".

A couple minutes later, the front door slammed, announcing that Stacy had left.

Cash found his phone and logged onto Instagram. A picture of Harwoods with a girl he met at a party last night appeared in the feed. Recalling again that he had been texting someone, he opened his private messages and found a conversation with a user under the nickname "Tiny Cherry." Apparently, that was the person he had wrote to yesterday. He opened the message and began to reread it.

"I'm certainly not a criminal, but I wouldn't mind you handcuffing me."

Ugh. How gross.

"Disgusting" replied Tiny Cherry.

Wheeler opened Tiny Cherry's account and realized that this was the girl who had introduced herself to him at the party as y/n. Daniel himself became disgusted at how disgusted his pickup line sounded.

He went back to the dialog, quickly typed "Sorry" and hit send.

Dan closed Instagram, went to messages with David, and sent a message to him "I think I fucked up.”

Y/n had spent her entire work shift with her partner keeping the streets in order for some important person to arrive.

She was distracted for a second by an Instagram post, but her partner managed to notice the change in the girl's face.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, stepping a little closer.

"Uh, no. It's just some guy sent a really dumb ride yesterday, and now apparently he's realized how disgusting it is."

Y/n turned the phone's screen toward her partner so he could read it. At first, her partner's face expressed nothing but amusement with a dash of mild disgust. There are a lot of guys who text this kind of thing to girls, for reasons unknown. It certainly wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last. But when he saw the name "Cash Wheeler" and opened the profile to see if it was really the person he thought it was, his expression changed. It now expressed pure surprise.

"What? Is something wrong?"

"Wait, you're being hit on by Cash Wheeler! Seriously????"

"Well yeah, it looks like it. Not a big deal" not really paying much attention to who exactly is doing it replied y/n and put the phone away.

"Y/n, it's not. From what I've heard about him h, he's a pretty good opportunity to switch things up after your past relationship."

"I don't think it's time already and that he is the right person. I don't want one-night stands or friends with benefits. Hell, I don't even know him!"

Harwood and Wheeler met at lunchtime for a short workout at the gym. While they were changing, Daniel told all what he had done.

"What did you do?! You did exactly what I asked you not to do, Dan!". Harwood was clearly pissed at the way his friend had acted.

"I know, I know! I screwed up. And I'm really sorry. I already texted her that I'm sorry, but she read it and didn't say anything back. I don't know what else to do to make it right. She seemed nice and I guess I really liked her. Not like the others, you know" Wheeler tried to defend himself.

David was silent for a while, calming down and considering something.

The silence was getting more and more pressing with each passing second. It got to the point where Daniel thought for a moment that his best friend was about to hit him. He wouldn't even be surprised if that happened, because everyone knew about David's reverent attitude toward his friends and loved ones. And even the fact that you are one of those friends won't save you. 

Thinking of the situation, David assured himself that maybe y/n liked his best friend because they had been through similar situations. Each of them had chosen their own way of how to deal with it all.

"Do you really like her?" asked Harwood after a while to his friend.

"Yeah, I think so" replied Daniel lowering his gaze down.

"Okay, I'll talk to her. But if you really want to get her you have to promise me you won't hurt her and you'll be patient. She's not the kind of girl who's gonna jump in your arms with you on the third day. Show understanding, consideration, care and don't pressure her into anything. Promise me that."

"I promise, Dav."

Wheeler always kept his word no matter what and Harwood always knew it.

In the evening, David called y/n and took a long time choosing his words and tried to explain to her everything that had happened and apologized many times for his friend.

"It's not your fault, David. I did nothing to apologize for. Your friend acted like a douchebag, but I'll forget him and let go of the situation."

"Then I'll invite you to the dinner on Sunday if you are Free. He'll be there if you're don't mind" Suggested Harwood already planning how he would properly introduce Daniel to her.

"Okay, it's a deal. Dinner on Sunday. Say hi to Maria" replied y/n and a smile could be heard in her voice.

"I will. Goodnight y/n." 

The fact that y/n had agreed to at least be in the same space as Daniel was already a good sign. Perhaps something would actually come of this.

"Good night, David."

Next chapter

#ftr #cash wheeler x reader #cash wheeler #cash wheeler imagine #dax harwood #x y/n #all elite wrestling #aew #aew x reader #wrestling fanfiction #wrestling fanfic #wrestling fic #wrestling #aew fanfiction #aew fanfic #aew fic #Daniel Wheeler

[vitanithepure]

Ok. I gotta ask. You get so many good shots from teh game. What camera mod do you use? I tried Native Camera Tweaks, but I *hated it* so I deleted the folder that had them.

I'm using Otis_Inf Photomode Mod for BG3.

It's a paid mod, you get access to it after you subscribe to the Patreon (but are free to use it after it ends, of course, so it's a onetime payment if you so choose).

I find it well worth it! It's very easy to use. I'm a complete amateur and manage to do some good shots, if you are more skilled with reshades and/or more advanced options this mod allows you'll be making literal virtual photography with this thing :)

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 mods

[clowningly]

stuff for a whitty lore rewrite thing idk what to call it

#whitty #whitty fnf #fnf #lol bait #OneTime Shot #<- theres the real tag #randys scribbles

[thepastisalreadywritten]

SAINT OF THE DAY (November 12)

Today, on the day of his martyrdom, November 12, Roman Catholics and some Eastern Catholics remember St. Josaphat Kuntsevych, a bishop and monk whose example of faith inspired many Eastern Orthodox Christians to return to full communion with the Holy See.

Other Eastern Catholics, including the Ukrainian Catholic Church, celebrate St. Josaphat's feast day on November 25.

Born in 1580 in the western Ukrainian region of Volhynia, John Kuntsevych did not become “Josaphat” until his later life as a monk.

He was not initially a full member of the Catholic Church, born to Orthodox Christian parents whose church had fallen out of communion with the Pope.

Although the Eastern churches began to separate from the Holy See in 1054, a union had existed for a period of time after the 15th-century Ecumenical Council of Florence.

However, social, political and theological disputes caused the union to begin dissolving even before the Turkish conquest of Byzantium in 1453.

By John’s time, many Slavic Orthodox Christians had become strongly anti-Catholic.

During this time, Latin missionaries attempted to achieve reunion with the individual eastern patriarchs.

The approach was risky, sometimes politicizing the faith and leading to further divisions.

But it did yield some notable successes, including the reunion of John’s own Ruthenian Church in the 1596 Union of Brest.

John was trained as a merchant’s apprentice and could have opted for marriage. But he felt drawn to the rigors and spiritual depth of traditional Byzantine monasticism.

Taking the monastic name of Josaphat, he entered a Ukrainian monastery in 1604.

The young monk was taking on an ambitious task, striving to re-incorporate the Eastern Orthodox tradition with the authority of the Catholic Church in the era of its “Counter-reformation.”

Soon, as a priest, subsequently an archbishop, and ultimately a martyr, he would live and die for the union of the churches.

While rejecting the anti-Western sentiments of many of his countrymen, Josaphat also resisted any attempt to compromise the Eastern Catholic churches’ own traditions.

Recognizing the urgent pastoral needs of the people, he produced catechisms and works of apologetics, while implementing long overdue reforms of the clergy and attending to the needs of the poor.

Josaphat’s exemplary life and zeal for the care of souls won the trust of many Orthodox Christians, who saw the value of the churches’ union reflected in the archbishop‘s life and works.

Nevertheless, his mission was essentially controversial, and others were led to believe lurid stories and malicious suggestions made about him.

In 1620, opponents arranged for the consecration of a rival archbishop.

As tensions between supporters and opponents began to escalate, Josaphat lamented the onset of attacks that would lead to his death.

“You people of Vitebsk want to put me to death,” he protested.

“You make ambushes for me everywhere, in the streets, on the bridges, on the highways, and in the marketplace. I am here among you as a shepherd, and you ought to know that I would be happy to give my life for you.”

He finally did so, on a fall day, on 12 November 1623.

An Orthodox priest had been shouting insults outside the archbishop’s residence and trying to force his way inside.

Josaphat had him removed, but the man assembled a mob in the town.

They arrived and demanded the archbishop’s life, threatening his companions and servants.

Unable to escape, Josaphat died praying for the men who shot and then beheaded him before dumping his body in a river.

Josaphat’s body was discovered incorrupt, five years later.

Remarkably, the saint’s onetime rival — the Orthodox Archbishop Meletius — was reconciled with the Catholic Church in later years.

Josaphat was beatified by Pope Urban VIII on 16 May 1643. He was canonized by Pope Pius IX on 29 June 1867.

He was the first saint of the Eastern Church to be canonized by Rome. He is the patron saint of Ukraine.

After the partition of Poland, the Russians forced most Ruthenians to join the Russian Orthodox Church.

#Saint of the Day #St. Josaphat Kuntsevych

[mariacallous]

On June 22, 1936, the philosopher Moritz Schlick was on his way to deliver a lecture at the University of Vienna when Johann Nelböck, a deranged former student of Schlick’s, shot him dead on the university steps. Some Austrian newspapers defended the madman, while Nelböck himself argued in court that his onetime teacher had promoted a treacherous Jewish philosophy. David Edmonds traces the rise and fall of the Vienna Circle—an influential group of brilliant thinkers led by Schlick—and of a philosophical movement that sought to do away with metaphysics and pseudoscience in a city darkened by fascism, anti-Semitism, and unreason. The Vienna Circle’s members included Otto Neurath, Rudolf Carnap, and the eccentric logician Kurt Gödel. On its fringes were two other philosophical titans of the twentieth century, Ludwig Wittgenstein and Karl Popper. The Circle championed the philosophy of logical empiricism, which held that only two types of propositions have cognitive meaning, those that can be verified through experience and those that are analytically true. For a time, it was the most fashionable movement in philosophy. Yet by the outbreak of World War II, Schlick’s group had disbanded and almost all its members had fled. Edmonds reveals why the Austro-fascists and the Nazis saw their philosophy as such a threat. The Murder of Professor Schlick paints an unforgettable portrait of the Vienna Circle and its members while weaving an enthralling narrative set against the backdrop of economic catastrophe and rising extremism in Hitler’s Europe.

[beardedmrbean]

New York — Relatives of eight people killed in a Halloween terror attack on a New York City bike path as well as those who were injured are expected to speak at a Wednesday sentencing hearing for an Islamic extremist who prosecutors say deserves multiple life sentences.

Sayfullo Saipov’s sentencing in Manhattan federal court comes after a jury in March rejected the death penalty for the Uzbekistan citizen and onetime New Jersey resident, leaving him with a mandatory life sentence.

Prosecutors urged Judge Vernon S. Broderick to impose a sentence of eight consecutive life sentences — one for each death — and an additional 260 years in prison, according to a presentence submission.

“Saipov is an unabashed terrorist — a proud murderer who deserves no leniency and should be punished to the fullest extent of the law,” prosecutors wrote.

“After months of planning a vicious terrorist attack, Saipov got what he wanted: brutal carnage of innocent people, lives and families destroyed, and terror in New York City. Indeed, the only thing Saipov was denied was even more death and destruction because he crashed into a school bus before he made it to the Brooklyn Bridge,” they added.

Saipov, 35, carried out his attack on Halloween in 2017 when he ran his rented truck onto a bike path in lower Manhattan that is popular with residents and tourists.

Five tourists from Argentina, two Americans and a Belgian woman were killed, and 18 others were seriously injured.

Saipov was shot by a police officer and immediately taken into custody after emerging from his truck shouting “God is great” in Arabic and waving paintball and pellet guns in the air.

Prosecutors said he smiled as he asked FBI agents who questioned him in a hospital room after the attack if they could hang an Islamic State group flag on the walls.

At his trial, his family members urged a life sentence, saying they hoped he would realize what he had done and express remorse. They said they wanted him to return to the passive person they remembered him as before he grew obsessed with online propaganda posted by the Islamic State militant group.

A former long-haul truck driver, Saipov moved legally to the U.S. from Uzbekistan in 2010 and lived in Ohio and Florida before joining his family in Paterson, New Jersey.

His lawyer, David Patton, told jurors that his actions were “senseless, horrific, and there’s no justification for them.”

Patton, who did not post a sentencing submission in the public file, did not return an email message Tuesday.

Saipov, who did not testify at his trial, will have the opportunity to speak at the sentencing hearing.

#nunyas news

[reidio-silence]

Here was another 1974 pain to be purged: the fear that someone you loved would disappear. A Missouri bank president and his wife disappeared, then were discovered shot to death, trussed to a tree, the banker with dynamite strapped to his chest. The editor of the Atlanta Constitution disappeared, kidnapped by individuals claiming to be members of an “American Revolutionary Army” seeking “to return the American government to the people.” An IRS agent in Wisconsin was lured out to a farm, tied up, and threatened by right-wing extremists of the new “Posse Comitatus” movement, which pledged massive tax resistance against the United States.

Young people disappeared. A typical news report, from California: “The nude body of a young woman found in a desert wash near Blythe was tentatively identified as that of Laura Louise Escamillo, 20, of Idyll-wild, sheriff’s detectives reported. Officers said Miss Escamillo was last seen July 11 near Blythe attempting to hitch a ride home.” In August, a pit full of decomposing corpses, most of them teenage runaways, was discovered outside Houston; the serial killer, Dean Arnold Corll, who had once owned a candy shop, lured them in with promises of drugs, food, and shelter. He piled up a final toll of twenty-seven corpses.

Sometimes, and even more frighteningly, children made themselves disappear. They ran away. They became willing captives to strange Svengalis and gurus, their personalities suddenly changed—or of a sudden it seemed they had no personalities at all. Like the onetime cheerleaders who joined the “Manson Family” and became obedient mass murderers. Or the bright college students discovered by their parents selling flowers on a street corner on behalf of the Reverend Sun Myung Moon (whose favorite movie was The Exorcist). Their parents, Time noted, “almost uniformly describe their children as having been well-rounded, industrious, and studious until they went off to college and became captured by drugs and radicalism.” Steve Allen, the TV personality, discovered that his missing son had joined the “Love Israel” cult and now went by the name “Logic.” In Houston in November 1973, a city traumatized by the Corll killings, tens of thousands gathered over three days in the Astrodome to celebrate the fifteen-year-old guru Maharaji Ji. As the scoreboard flashed HOLY BREATH WILL FILL THIS PLACE AND YOU WILL BE BAPTIZED IN HOLY BREATH, like some of the lines from the Exorcist script, his agents combed the aisles to recruit devotees willing to live a life of total regimentation on his ashrams, give up all their worldly goods, and never speak to their families again—in exchange for the promise of levitation and communion with extraterrestrials.

— Rick Perlstein, The Invisible Bridge (2014)

#usa

[cyarskj1899]

How Shakira Turned A Messy Breakup Into Her Biggest Hit In Years

She's long been typecast as a sexy hip-shaker, but her hijacking of the celebrity gossip algorithm is another reminder of her range.

Alessa Dominguez Senior Culture Writer

Evrim Aydin / Anadolu Agency / Getty Images

Shakira, left, and Gerard Pique in 2014.

“No resentment here, baby,”Shakira sings to an annoying ex in her latest hit song, “BZRP Music Session 53.” “A she-wolf like me is too much for a guy like you.” (The entire song is in Spanish, save for the line “sorry, baby,” so we’ve translated.) 

The Colombian pop star’s vocals perfectly channel above-it-all disdain, and it’s not just a lyrical stance. Last year, cheating rumors trickled out about her partner, Spanish soccer star Gerard Pique, and in the summer, she announced their breakup after an 11-year relationship. 

Even before the announcement, her songs had seemed to hint at behind-the-scenes trouble. In the electro-nostalgic “Don’t Wait Up,” she pined for a couple’s early spark. On the Rauw Alejandro collaboration, “Te Felicito,” she spurned a fake ex, and followed up by belting about relationship inertia alongside Ozuna on the bachata ballad “Monotonía.” 

Since then, the separation has fed tabloid gossip about custody battles, the shameless “other woman,” and allegations that Shakira put a witch mannequin on her balcony facing the home of a supposedly mean mother-in-law. 

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Our bimonthly newsletter covers every pivotal, unforgettable, zany moment in the cultural landscape.

“BZRP Music Session 53,” a collaboration with Argentinian rap producer Bizarrap, is her most explicit kiss-off anthem yet: a step into her post-breakup reclamation era, à la Ariana Grande’s “thank u, next.” 

After it dropped last week, the song immediately shot to No. 1 on YouTube and broke records for a solo Latin artist. Then it reached the pinnacle of global Spotify with nearly 15 million streams and became the platform’s largest Spanish-language debut in history. “I never thought that I would reach number one in the world at 45 years old and in Spanish,” Shakira wrote in the caption of acelebratory Instagram post. The song has sparked endless memes and TikTok jokes and made a mark everywhere from Croatiato China. 

If the numbers hold, it’ll become her first top 10 US pop hit since her early aughts crossover era. Despite having been one-dimensionally typecast as the globe’s favorite wholesome hip-shaker, her 2023 hijacking of the celebrity gossip algorithm shows that she’s always had the range.

Kevin Winter / Getty Images

Shakira performs onstage during the Pepsi Super Bowl LIV Halftime Show on Feb. 2, 2020, in Miami. 

Before Americans had a Top 40 breakup queen in Taylor Swift, Latin Americans had Shakira. The onetime teen pop star became a global sensation in the late ’90s with her intimate songwriting about love and relationships in her breakthrough hits “Donde Estás Corazón” and “Estoy Aqui.” 

Her most iconic US and global songs are early aughts bops like “Hips Don’t Lie” and “Whenever, Wherever”; the endlessly played videos emphasized the dance moves that became the cornerstone of her celebrity.

But she was always more complicated than that in her Spanish-language work. The 18-year-old sold bourgeois rebellion against quinceañeros and social conventions on Pies Descalzos, her breakout hit album. The song “Octavo Día” — from her follow-up, Donde Están los Ladrones? — critiqued how the public become chess pieces for the powerful. She repurposed the song as an anti-war statement during the Iraq invasion, pitting blimp dolls of Bush and Saddam Husseinagainst each other during her 2003 concert tour.

Even in that early pop-rock era, the most commercially impactful songs captured the mundanities of love from a woman’s perspective. From the mariachi-inflected “Ciega Sordomuda” (with its ableist titular sentiments of being rendered “Blind, Deafmute”) to the quasi-metal thrashing of “Inevitable,” the song Pepsi chose in a 1999 ad selling her as a pan-Latina icon, she found endless ways to describe feeling angrily helpless about men’s appeal (and confessed to not showering on Sundays).

Even the big crossover hit “Whenever, Wherever” was inspired by her relationship with Antonio de la Rúa, son of Argentinian president Fernando de la Rúa, who also starred in the video for follow-up “Underneath Your Clothes,” her only ballad to hit the top 10 in the US.

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Still, by then, these were rare musical allusions to her private life. These days, Shakira isn’t usually a celebrity who’s gossiped about. Aside from de la Rúa suing her soon after their 2011 breakup, her stardom hasn’t historically hinged on scandals because, like Beyoncé (whom she collaborated with on “Beautiful Liar”), she keeps her private life close to the vest. 

And the bigger Shakira’s stardom has grown, the less messy her celebrity has been. She always avoids controversy; in a deeply conservative country, she’s avoided talking about abortion or LGBTQ rights, for instance. (Her early song “Se Quiere, Se Mata,” is strikingly conservative, a cry against the social hypocrisy that leads young girls to seek abortion.) Her public-facing politics are unobjectionable, a favored cause being children’s education.

Since her two kids were born in the 2010s, she’s leaned into family-friendly opportunities: She played the Gazelle in Disney’s Zootopia, and appeared as a smiling judge on The Voiceand the dance challenge show Dancing with Myself. And that’s why her latest sonic salvo is such a notable departure. 

Trae Patton / NBCU Photo Bank / NBCUniversal via Getty Images

Shakira, right, and Adam Levine during an episode of The Voice in 2013.

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Shakira is always dropping one-off singles, like 2020’s “Me Gusta” with Anuel AA or “Girl Like Me," a collaboration with the Black Eyed Peas that dominated airwaves last summer. So it’s easy to forget that her last English-language album, the self-titled Shakira, was released in 2014. Her last Spanish-language album, El Dorado, came out in 2017, after which she almost lost her voice.

That album was partly inspired by the relationship with Pique, whom she’d met during the 2010 World Cup, when she wrote and sang the theme song, “Waka Waka.” Its biggest hit was the reggaeton-flavored “Me Enamore,” where she sings about an age difference between lovers (Pique is ten years younger): “I thought to myself, ‘This is a kid, but what am I to do?’” she laments. “It’s what I’d been searching for.”

Over the past two years, though, there were cheating rumors. When Shakira launched her comeback English-language single “Don’t Wait Up” last summer, the chatter was about whether she’d come out because of the colors of the announcement matching the lesbian flag. (Far from being some kind of coded revelation, it turned out to be just a clueless coincidence.)

But then she started playing into the speculation about her relationship. In “Te Felicito,” a brilliant club-ready EDM banger, she sarcastically congratulates an ex for being the perfect pretender. The robotic vocals — and robo dance moves — were an arresting choice for a passionate breakup anthem, and it became her sixteenth Latin pop charts No. 1.

In “Monotonía,” she dropped hints about a partner’s narcissism, and described a breakup that was less about fault and more about “monotony” setting in. 

But with this Bizarrap collaboration, she seems more flamboyantly petty than ever. That might be because it’s not an official single, but rather the result of a laidback collaboration at the producer’s Barcelona studio, and Shakira revels in the freedom. 

She addresses a former flame who she’s outgrown and who has found a new woman “like him,” snarkily suggesting he’s replaced a Ferrari for a Twingo, and a Rolex for a Casio. 

The song has sparked meticulous lyric-explainer threads and feminist debates over the respectability of speaking out after cheating. (Pique himself responded last week by wearing a Casio watch and arriving at work in a Twingo.) 

While artists like Adele still trade in the pop tradition of the long-awaited breakup album, there’s been a move toward a real-time reclamation of the post-split gossip cycle, from Grande’s “thank u, next” moment to Olivia Rodrigo’s “Driver’s License” breakthrough. Now, Shakira has joined the ranks.

Many Latinx and Spanish-speaking millennials — especially women —  grew up with Shakira as their soundtrack. The world has been cheering her on, and the usually silent star even shared a Colombian op-ed on her Instagram defending her right to claim her story. “It’s not my fault that they’re hating on you,” she sings. “I just make music and I’m sorry if it splashes you.” In other words: Sorry, not sorry. ●

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[toongrrl-blog]

Body Image 2021 in the Media

We should all feel like Joan when we look in the mirror...

Okay so onetime I read this article and I thought: “Lovely lovely, but there is something about it that is bugging me...” Then it hit me that the representation wasn’t diverse in that article and I know 2021 had media depictions that would expand the conversation regarding body image. 

So here are my picks:

1. Never Have I Ever (Season 2)

It wasn’t the best decision Devi made when she blurted out that the new girl (and her fellow comrade as being the token Indian girls at their school) Aneesa, is recovering from an eating disorder that she picked up while at a all-girl’s prep school where she was the only Brown girl (and only Muslim at that) where she was ignored except when receiving positive feedback about her slim figure, thus triggering her disorder. 

Sadly WOC often are overlooked when eating disorders are discussed, in favor of privileged white girls (thin ones at that), and recovery is often presented as accessible and overnight. But Aneesa shows that even the most together person could be struggling with something and given how little her bites are, her ED habits don’t disappear overnight. It’s also important to note that Aneesa picked up her disorder in a high-stress (especially in academics), upper class environment where racism was in the air. Aneesa felt the pressure to fit in, her body was the only thing that gained some semblance of approval from her white peers, it made sense that she was determined not to lose it. 

That said: the series does a good job putting women of color (and their experiences) front and center. From the Indian American Devi (a flawed and relatable character played by newcomer Maitreyi Ramikrishnan), her Afro-Latina friend Fabiola (who refutes the Sassy Black Woman stereotype with her quiet nature and holds STEM interests and explores her lesbian identity), Chinese American Eleanor (who is loud, dramatic, loving, and bold in her presentation), the Indian American Aneesa (outwardly confident and easy-going), Devi’s grieving and strong-willed mother Nalini, and Kamala (Devi’s “perfect” cousin who starts to push back against the expectations put on her as a South Asian woman from both her family and her professors). 

2. Why Women Kill (Season 2)

Classism, Ableism, Fatphobia, Social Totem Poles, Prejudice. These issues are at the core of the characters who struggle with self-image or desirability in the second season of this (highly underrated) anthology series of the dramedy from Desperate Housewives creator Marc Cherry. The story centers on the seemingly meek and hapless “frump” Alma Fillcott (played by a drabed down Allison Tollman) who envies and wants to join the garden club presided over by the beautiful trophy wife Rita Castillo (Lana Parilla who ATE this role); Alma deals with a lot of slights her direction due to her appearance, despite the love of a devoted husband and a daughter (Dee, who is heavier than her mother and more fashionable and prettied up) while Rita deals with an elderly and abusive husband (who refuses to die) that throws her former life as a sex worker in her face. We learn that Alma was cheated on by her high school boyfriend at senior prom for a thinner and more glamorous girl, Detective Vern (Rita’s detective and Dee’s eventual husband) dealt with being dumped after a disfiguring injury he gotten in World War II (did I mention this story was set in 1949?), Dee puts up with men who only see her in secret due to her weight, and Rita came from a poor family that was regarded as dirt by members of the community she grew up in and ended up in a physically abusive marriage until her cousin shot the guy (sadly turned out to be still alive) before being in her current one. Through the Garden Club, we see how social privilege and prejudice can be weaponized to climb up on the necks of other members (basically hierarchies are very predatory). 

3. The Baby-Sitters’ Club (Season 2)

Back when the original book series came out in 1985, Stacey McGill made history as a character with a chronic health condition/disability (Diabetes) whose character wasn’t defined by her illness. She was glamorous for girls her age, sophisticated and somewhat mature, she was pretty as a model, boys liked her (currency in middle school), the kids she babysat adored her, she had well-coiffed and fashionable blonde hair, she was super good at math; she was proof that a person with a chronic condition/disability could be relatable, natch, even aspirational. 

The sadly now defunct Netflix series updates the story and goes further, with Stacey; showcasing how social media and the shame projected upon by a parent can hurt a child. Instead of pricking her fingers, Stacey has a insulin pump that her Mother (at first) wants her to conceal, therefore making the girl feel she needs to be ashamed of her appearance and while she was harassed at her old school for fainting at lunch and missing school and wetting the bed at a sleepover, Stacey had a seizure in the lunchroom that was filmed by a classmate. Therefore Stacey endured her shame going viral online (this goes hand in hand with Monica Lewinsky’s story as she details in 15 Minutes of Shame and in our last entry of this post) and after moving to Connecticut, has to revisit it there too where parental skepticism (unconscious ableism) even forces her and her friends to defend her competence and skill as a babysitter. That same season also sees Stacey live life as usual, being boy-crazy and babysitting her charges before she confronts one of her former tormentors at summer camp, gifting some catharsis despite the result of poison ivy.

Season Two sees Stacey with bickering parents and struggling to reconcile her image of a young person positively managing her condition with the ambivalence she feels about her disability, especially when she tells a friend (a talented ballerina) that she envies the girl’s body for being able to make these elaborate and demanding movements while Stacey has to work hard to make sure her body functions regularly. 

Stacey’s storyline showcases a disabled character who is a full person in her own right, with the important caveat that if you can’t reach body positivity, body neutrality is just as sufficient. 

4. Encanto.

I have problems with this movie and many of it’s characters; that said, lets get into the good, the bad (well how it depicts the bad with some awareness), and the not really “unspecial” on what this film says about body image. 

Good: FIrst, the family and the villagers showcase a mixture of skin colors, body types, sizes, shapes, heights, hair textures without depicting one or the other as worse or better; facial features are brought into the mix with the large noses of Abuela Alma, Pepa, Bruno, and Isabella, Indigenous and African and Mestizo and European features are in the mix, Mirabel is a young woman with a short-ish, “average” body type with a wide nose and curly hair while older sister Luisa is depicted as muscular and feminine.

The Depiction of the Bad: The film depicts (subtly) how beauty ideals can poison family relations, especially who is the most pressured or ignored. Abuela Alma ignores/disrespects her average-build and regular-cute with wide nose and curly hair and bespectacled Mirabel while forcing the muscular and large Luisa to be a workhorse and Dolores to be used as a snitch despite being as pretty and slender as Isabella with her long, straight/wavy hair. Let’s not get into how Mirabel’s lack of powers can be an allegory for disability, something that society has used as an excuse to dehumanize and see as “surplus”, and sadly an attitude that hasn’t gone away (environmental fascism and straws). I also wanna look at how Luisa’s body marks her as a workhorse who gets no rest or relaxation (not even on her cousin’s ceremony or sister’s engagement dinner) by her grandmother and that raggedy ass village while Isabella gets to be the ornament and how Isa getting her “imperfect” white blossoms plucked by Abuela after she stresses out stands in for the many times that women, like myself, could be doing or talking about anything but the focus is still on our looks rather than our substance. 

Not Really “Unspecial”: The film points out, like The Breakfast Club did 36 years before, it’s a grave mistake to reduce people to “the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions”. Luisa is more than the muscle, she is a sensitive and loving person who needs a rest; Mirabel lacks magic powers but she is a loving and devoted girl (too devoted, I say) with talents in parkour and fashion design; Isabella is more than the beauty queen, but is a creative agriculturalist; and Bruno is a loving man who keeps it real and a creative who acts out plays with his rats. 

5. Spencer.

A jarring and beautifully creative look at a woman struggling with her eating disorder and her dying marriage under the weight of in-laws who don’t respect her boundaries and see her as just a ornamental broodmare. We see Princess Diana in the final days of her marriage as she experiences the Christmas Holiday at Sandrigham where the family is ceremonily weighed before and after the festivities, the movie left me breathless, like texts I read for Women’s Studies classes in college and plus we need more car scenes like this in the cinema again. 

6. American Crime Story: Impeachment.

Monica Lewinsky is my dream wifey. She is also someone who dealt with having her sexuality and body bashed and demeaned in the media either as a grotesque for her fluctuating voluptuous figure (this was the age of heroin chic) or as a girl with more looks and breasts than brains or a venomous femme fatale. 

Monica’s struggle can be tied to the trope of The Bombshell, who is either adulated for her beauty (like Bill Clinton and Linda Tripp did when meeting her) or treated like an animal for her sexuality (the media fallout and how her ex lover and ex friend betrayed her); like I feel so angry for Monica to the point I wanna fight Bill, Linda, Ken Starr, David Letterman, and Jay Leno. Like I am mad that Monica, young and gorgeous and educated was raked over the coals so hard. Like people acted like she wasn’t it, then again those folks thought Hillary wasn’t hot enough for Bill (NEWSFLASH: From what I saw some Gen Z thought young Hillary looked like Sabrina Carpenter, who is Disney Star pretty, while Bill is meh in presentation); how could they see Monica with that broad, gleaming smile, those soft cheeks, the babylike skin, the long and thick shiny hair that was the hottest thing to have in the 90s, the square jawline that made Brooke Shields launch a standard of beauty that lasted more than a decade, the full lush lips that no amount of collagen injections could replicate, the green eyes with the dark lashes, symmetrical face that fit most Western standards of beauty, and the curvaceous figure with breasts and hips and everything....but she was made to feel bad about those features because she grew up in Beverly Hills where (as Mo’Nique said) they prefer knitting needles with boob jobs to hourglasses and pears. Let’s not get into how every woman in Bill Clinton’s orbit was look shamed in the media: maybe his Momma, Hillary, Chelsea, Betty Currie (like Linda was portrayed in drag on SNL, but funny we don’t get much shine on that), Monica, Paula Jones (despite being one half of Ugly Guy, Hot Wife, was shamed into a nose job), Linda Tripp (hack hack hack), Janet Reno. 

As an aside, as much as I loathe the late Linda Tripp (my TikTok could be considered a Linda Tripp Hate account), the mocking of her looks skewed as fatphobic and transmisogynistic. We can talk about what a shitty person she was and make fun of her without throwing marginalized people under the bus, people. Plus she is a look at how the Plain Jane type can have the potential of churning her bitterness over rejection into directing it at other women, especially prettier women. Hurt people, hurt people and I believe that Linda was a Karen of the highest order, a lady in waiting to Carolyn Bryant and a DUFF to Yolanda Salvidar with Phyllis Schlafly’s raggedy weave. 

I was a kid then and I wondered what pretty Monica, who looked like a movie star had to do with the President. Good thing I didn’t know how bad it was, would’ve made me wanna die. I’m so happy she is telling her story, which is why we are all here today.

Now I think we need to end this post with this bop to carry out your day

#body image #intersectionality #feminism #intersectional feminism #race #gender #disability #eating disorders #diet culture #women in media #never have i ever #why women kill #the babysitters club #encanto #spencer #impeachment acs #princess diana #monica lewinsky #linda tripp #hillary clinton #betty currie #chelsea clinton #paula jones #fatphobia #classism #the proud family louder and prouder #penny proud

[goldenlilium-ocs]

November 30th, 1995.

(Art by @spideyswebhead)

As they entered the dreary classroom, Mattheo grabbed Theo by the sleeves of his robes, dragging him over to Snape’s desk while ignoring his protests. “Excuse me, professor. Theodore isn’t feeling well. My desk is closer to the door, in case he needs to leave. I’m happy to switch partners for the day.” 

Snape narrowed his eyes, opening his mouth to argue, but then he just sighed and dismissed them with a wave of his hand. “Very well. Take yourself to the hospital wing if you must, Mr Nott.”

Mattheo nodded, pulling his friend toward the desks as the rest of the class filed into the dungeons.

“What was that for?” Theo huffed, slithering out of Mattheo’s grip and straightening his robes.

“I need to talk to Juliette.”

Theo rolled his eyes, but his shoulders slumped in defeat. It usually took a lot more to get Nott to back down from a fight. It was becoming a known fact that this was the one instance Mattheo would never budge on. “Yeah. Your funeral.” 

The lanky boy dropped his backpack down on the desk and slumped into the seat beside Dani’s. Mattheo made a mental note to pay him back later, though was he also not doing him a favour now? Nott and Price hadn’t spoken in weeks for whatever reason. He’d learned long ago not to bother asking. Whatever the problem was, it would likely be solved a lot faster if they put their shit aside and hooked up again.

Juliette peered over her parchment as Mattheo came to sit beside her. “You really are a stalker.” The witch scoffed, frowning at Theo’s new spot across the classroom.

“Aw come on, Bishop. You won’t miss him much. I’m not so bad. I take my own notes too.”

“Do you take those notes in silence?” Her brow arched, the one on the left. It became his favourite one.

Mattheo smiled to hide his grimace. “For someone who was so certain I wasn’t at fault, you sure hold quite the grudge, Bishop.”

Juliette scoffed, slamming her inkwell down on the desk. “I’m sorry, you’ve been telling me to get over my boyfriend’s death and you don’t think I have reason to hate you?”

“I’m not telling you to get over it. I’m telling you to learn to deal with it.” Mattheo scanned the classroom behind her shoulder before he met her gaze again. “Voldemort killed Cedric because he got in the way. You really think that was a onetime senseless tragedy?”

The brow lowered, furrowing closer to the other. “Senseless tragedy? What other kind is there?”

“You believe Voldemort’s back. Surely you don’t think he’ll do it with his arms up in surrender. Cedric’s death was just the first casualty of war. Don’t let them coddle you into thinking it won’t happen again.”

The rage in the witch’s eyes dimmed ever so slightly, but she still looked at Mattheo as though he were a flobberworm. “You said his name.”

It took a moment for him to process who she was talking about. “What, you think I’m gonna call him ‘dad’? He chose who he became, and who he became was a piece of shit.”

“Do pay attention, Miss Bishop, Mister Riddle.” Snape stood before their desk, regarding Mattheo with suspicion. He only grinned back. 

“Just stay out of my business, Riddle.” Bishop whispered as Snape walked back to the front. Now that he could do, if it meant she would start giving a shit about her grades again.

Mattheo pulled out his own textbook, turning to the page written on the blackboard. He then pulled out another book from his bag, the spine cracked and pages worn down with his quiet appreciation. He laid it flat against the textbook, holding it up at an angle to Snape wouldn’t see. He could feel Bishop’s eyes burning a hole into him, but even her gaze couldn’t distract him from the story on the page. He was staying out of her business after all. Even as the class were made to start reading aloud, his attention never wandered. He had gotten pretty good at blocking out the world around him.

“I nominate Mattheo to read next.”

His eyes shot up, meeting a very smug Juliette Bishop. For the first time her eyes became a window into her thoughts, and Mattheo could read exactly what she was thinking. This was revenge for getting her kicked out of the library. Fair play, Bishop.

With a crooked smirk, Mattheo closed the books he held and looked back at Juliette. “Delighted. The Draught of Living Death is a very powerful sleeping potion that can be made by adding powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood.”As he went on to explain the more detailed effects on the potion, there was a small sort of satisfaction as Bishop’s eyes burned with frustration. It almost made him want to slip up, just for her. But he had a reputation to uphold. Juliette would learn, just like everyone else, that underestimating him was a poor decision. The Ravenclaw should’ve known better. 

“You memorised the textbook?” Juliette whispered as Dani took over the reading.

“Don’t sound so surprised, Bishop. I don’t have to be wearing blue to care about beating you in this class.”

“You memorised the textbook.” She repeated. If Mattheo didn’t know any better, he’d think she was in awe of him in that moment.

It honestly wasn’t hard to do. He’d read the entire thing over the Summer. It was his only form of entertainment, and he had a certain appreciation for potions. That passage had been one of his favourites, reminding him of some old muggle play he’d found in a bookshop. Not that anybody else needed to know that. 

“I’ll even let you borrow my notes, so you’re prepared next time.” He couldn’t help it. He had to keep talking to her. So long as those eyes were on him, Mattheo felt like every second of his life was precious. He couldn’t waste it not talking to her.

Juliette shot up to get the ingredients as soon as the practical half of the lesson began, clearly expecting him to sit back while she did all the work. Expecting him to be just like Theo. 

“Hang on there,” Mattheo reached out for her arm to stop her, pulling his hand back to his side as soon as she turned back. He shouldn’t have done that. “Let’s split it up, save some time. You get the ingredients, I’ll handle equipment.”

Bishop looked almost taken aback by the offer, but Mattheo could tell that he’d appealed to her when he said it would save time. With both of them working together, maybe they could be the first in class to finish.

Juliette went off without a word, but her shoulders were less tense than they had been after he’d sat down beside her. Mattheo collected the vials, mortar and pestle, carrying them back to the desk. He quickly stored his book away in the safety of his satchel and focused on the textbook, taking in the process for the potion. Unfortunately, McLaggen and some other Ravenclaw girl Mattheo had never cared to memorise the name of were sat at the desk in front. They hadn’t even bothered to leave their desks to collect what they needed for the potion. The Ravenclaw girl was giggling at something McLaggen had said, being obnoxiously loud as if that would somehow work in her favour. 

“Crush these.” Juliette muttered, dropping some lacewing flies into the bowl. She sat herself down and started dicing up the sopophorus bean, not even looking at the pair in front. It had to be impossible to block out the sound of them though.

The Ravenclaw girl eventually got up to collect the ingredients at the sight of Snape wandering around the desks. Cormac turned, grinning at the two. There was something off about it, too much charm in one smile. Mattheo never trusted anyone who smiled without reason. Except Bishop, though she didn’t do much of that lately. 

“You two make quite the pair, you know.” Cormac spoke casually, as though there weren’t two pairs of eyes glaring daggers into him. If only looks really could kill. “It’s cute. That you too have become such fast friends. Now that Diggory’s out of the way.”

Mattheo’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the desk tight. He’d almost lost control teaching McLaggen a lesson before, and he wasn’t so sure there would be any time for Dani and Theo to pull him away a second time. 

It was Juliette who spoke up, a sickly sweet smile on her face. It was one Mattheo didn’t recognise. “That’s funny. Matty and I were just discussing who we should target next.”

Matty

“Are you done?” Juliette didn’t even wait for an answer before she took the bowl of crushed lacewings away from Mattheo. Her smile was gone and she was workin g with purpose once more. 

“Yeah, what do we need to do?” He glanced over at the textbook and frowned. “I think you made a mistake. There’s no lacewing flies on this list.”

The witch wasn’t even looking at him; she was pouring what looked a lot like hellebore syrup into the bowl. “I don’t make mistakes in potions.” 

Mattheo met her gaze, and he had to do a double take, not recognising that dark gleam in her eyes. It sent a thrill through his veins. In that moment, he would do whatever she asked. “What do you need?”

“A distraction.”

“This doesn’t feel like staying out of your business.”

She huffed, rolling her eyes. It was beautiful. “Think of it as justice for the common people. Now scoot.”

She didn’t have to tell him twice. He slowly removed his wand from the pocket of his robes, his eyes focusing on the beaker filled with sloth brain that already stood precariously on the edge of the desk in front. It took barely a swish of his wand to send it clattering to the floor.

“Oh shit. Here, let me help you.” He walked round the desk, kneeling to the ground to help pick them up.

He didn’t need to tear his focus away to know Juliette was making her move. His entire body was acutely aware of her presence like a beacon. He hadn’t seen her sit back down so much as felt it. He could hear the relief in her thoughts. “Be more careful next time, yeah?” He handed the beaker back and took his seat.

“Thanks.” came a quiet whisper.

Mattheo just nodded, picking up their own sloth brains and adding them to the cauldron before Juliette poured in the sopophorus bean. 

Despite the silence, the two were working well together. They were close to finishing when there was a loud thump in front of them. McLaggen had fallen from his chair and was scrambling backwards, pointing one shaky finger at his partner.

“P-pixies! They’re trying to get me! They’re going to eat me!” He slammed into the desk opposite, his cries drawing the attention of other students now who crowded round, laughing at his antics.

Turning to his partner, Mattheo saw that Juliette’s eyes were focused solely on Cormac. The corner of her lotus painted lips tugged upward in a smile you had to squint to catch. It wasn’t her usual smile, but it was certainly something. Her head tilted to the side, and her smile only grew when Cormac’s legs locked and sent him stumbling as soon as he tried to get up to run. Mattheo hadn’t even noticed her wand in her hand. Cormac crawled forwards on his knees now, trying to grab onto his partner’s robes. She jumped back with a squeal, sending him to the ground. That looked painful.

Snape strode over to the desk, scooping up the contents of the cauldron and taking a whiff. His eyes roamed over Mattheo before he turned to address the snickering crowd and grabbed the collar of Cormac’s robes. “Learn from his shame, class. Mister McLaggen invited this mistake with his arrogance and ignorance. If you do not care to follow instructions over flirtation, I encourage you not to care to return to my class for the rest of the year. And if f you can’t tell the difference between Draught of Living Death and a hallucinogen, you have already failed.”

“Class is dismissed. Perhaps over the weekend some of you may think about learning from Riddle and Bishop’s success, and hopefully not from McLaggen’s failures.”

As the students swarmed out of the classroom, Mattheo gave Dani and Theo the nod to go ahead without him. It took only two strides to catch up with Juliette. Holding the door open, he could finally question her about the potion. “What was that back there?”

“Strength is better than weakness, right?” Juliette ducked under his arm. She didn’t stop, but he noticed she was taking shorter steps than necessary.

“You could’ve gotten into trouble.” Mattheo was fairly sure Snape had known exactly what had been done to McLaggen’s potion. He just didn’t care. 

“But you liked it.” Juliette turned and looked at Mattheo. Really looked at him. “You wanted him to pay just as much as I did. Humiliation is the least of what he deserves.”

She was right. Cedric would have stopped her. Maybe he would’ve helped her control it. Mattheo wasn’t the good guy. He wanted to watch her make the world burn.

“Yeah. I liked it.”

Juliette smiled then, and Mattheo wondered if maybe Juliette Bishop wasn’t as much of a nice girl as Dani had said. Had his involvement made her worse or made her better?

#jattheo #julie x mattheo #snapshots